


the curse of lilvia

by bonebo



Category: Final Fantasy
Genre: Brainwashing, Dirty Talk, Gangbang, Hypnosis, M/M, Multi, Prostitution, Rough Sex, Snow is a slut, Succubus, Sweat, Threesomes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 12:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13659387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: “You men are all the same,” she says, in a voice that’s half snarl and all vitriol, heavy with contempt. “Always chasing after the first thing you see to make your dick twitch, without regard for anything else, without regard for anyone’s feelings or desires but your own.” She leans down, putting her palm on Snow’s forehead, and says softly, “I’m going to make you regret ever being born with that little worm between your legs, Snow Villiers.”Then her eyes start to glow, a red strong enough to rival the embers in a smothered fire, and when her lips part the only thing Snow can hear leaving her is some form of a long-forgotten, fluid-sounding tongue--perhaps a language never even known by man--that sounds ominous enough to have him shuddering. As soon as Lilvia has stopped talking, Snow is overcome by a new sensation: a cold wash like he’s been plunged into ice, passing from his head to the tips of his toes and leaving him dizzy.He falls, then; hits the ground with a weak noise of protest, and the last thing he sees is Lilvia’s vicious, fanged smile--then everything goes black.





	the curse of lilvia

It’s in the rarely-explored, thick woods surrounding the town of New Bodhum that Snow finds her--a slight, slender woman with pale skin and long hair the color of a dying fire, with untamed tresses spilling wildly over the gentle curves of her large breasts, barely held in by the skin-tight black dress she wears. Snow finds himself struck by her, coming to a stop on the woodland path and staring as she walks, slipping from shadow to shadow; there’s something about her that’s unreal, an aura around her slinking body that Snow finds himself helplessly drawn to. 

“Hey!”

She looks over at him with a speed that makes the outline of her figure blur. Snow could swear that he sees a glowing light in her eyes, but then he blinks and the image is gone.

“Who are you?” Snow takes a step closer to her, his brows furrowing. “What are you doing here?”

She doesn’t reply, but she does turn and start toward him, her heeled boots leaving no mark on the grass beneath them. As she comes closer Snow can’t help but feel like he should run, but his feet stay firmly in place, like he’s grown roots and anchored to the spot.

She says her name is Lilvia. Snow has never seen her around before, and yet he can tell there’s some kind of feeling bubbling up in his gut, making him loathe to ever leave her side; and five minutes after he’s met her he finds himself down on his knees in the abandoned woods, his eyes rolled back into his head as he looks up at the woman that has suddenly sprouted twisting black horns from her forehead and thin, leathery black wings from her shoulder blades.

“You men are all the same,” she says, in a voice that’s half snarl and all vitriol, heavy with contempt. “Always chasing after the first thing you see to make your dick twitch, without regard for anything else, without regard for anyone’s feelings or desires but your own.” She leans down, putting her palm on Snow’s forehead, and says softly, “I’m going to make you regret ever being born with that little worm between your legs, Snow Villiers.”

Then her eyes start to glow, a red strong enough to rival the embers in a smothered fire, and when her lips part the only thing Snow can hear leaving her is some form of a long-forgotten, fluid-sounding tongue--perhaps a language never even known by man--that sounds ominous enough to have him shuddering. As soon as Lilvia has stopped talking, Snow is overcome by a new sensation: a cold wash like he’s been plunged into ice, passing from his head to the tips of his toes and leaving him dizzy.

He falls, then; hits the ground with a weak noise of protest, and the last thing he sees is Lilvia’s vicious, fanged smile--then everything goes black.

-x-

Snow wakes up in the forest, sprawled out in the soft summer grass.

As soon as he sits up and looks around, Snow tries to make himself remember just how he got out here, or what had happened--he can remember going for a walk in the woods, but can’t recall anything more than his first few steps onto the trail. Had he been attacked?

Snow searches his pockets and finds them still holding anything worth taking--his money, his phone, his wallet--and gets to his feet with his trepidation fading into something that’s more akin to blind confusion. As he heads back into town, Snow tries to chase away the lingering unease the situation has left him with, and tells himself that it’s not that big a deal; after all, nothing seems to have changed. He still has his possessions and he’s not injured, so he tells himself that he’s really no worse for wear. It was a freak accident, to be sure, but not something that will have any lasting consequences.

And so Snow follows the path back toward town and tries to push the event from his mind.

As he’s heading home, he decides to take a short detour through the marketplace to pick up something to eat--but once he’s reached town, he notices a distinct smell on the air, so thick it all but saturates his sinuses. It’s faintly musky, with an underlying salty note to it; and even though it’s familiar, Snow can’t exactly place it, or identify what it is.

All he knows is that he likes it.

Snow reaches the marketplace to find it bustling: the vendors are out in force trying to take advantage of the bright, sunny day to sell their wares. He weaves his way through the crowds of people mingling around the stalls and carts and can’t help but notice that the scent in the air has grown stronger; he tries to follow it, curious as to just what is so alluring.

And his nose leads him right to one of the vendors that’s known as Thumb, standing behind his cart of fish and offal. 

Thumb is a big man, at over six feet tall and close to three hundred pounds, and he’s known around the town to be one of the filthiest vendors in the marketplace--but he sells his fish for cheap, and has a steady source of clientele in the poorer population of New Bodhum. Snow has never bought from him, never so much as talked to him, and yet now he finds himself standing at the man’s cart like he’s grown roots to it, staring at Thumb’s greasy, bearded face and drinking in the scent of him and never wanting to leave.

And even worse, he has no idea why.

“What are you starin’ at, boy?”

Snow’s jerked out of his reverie by Thumb’s snorting growl of a voice, and he looks at the vendor sharply, taken aback; he tries to speak, but the words stay hung in his throat, but even more horrifying than that is the sudden rush of warm arousal that shoots through him at being addressed by the other man. 

Snow feels his cock twitch in his jeans, and that’s enough to finally break him free of where he’s stuck to the spot--he takes a step back, looking up at Thumb and managing to choke out, “U-uh…” 

He can’t help but wonder about just how big the cart is--if he could fit under it between Thumb’s legs without anyone seeing him.

“Look, kid,” Thumb snaps, lurching forward sharply, “I ain’t got time for you to just hang out here and not buy anything. Either get your wallet out or get to steppin’.”

Snow stares at him a moment longer, then nods, ducking his head down and quickly walking away; and he tries to grind the heel of his palm discreetly into his jeans, hoping that no one else can notice how his cock is hard in his pants, straining against his palm as he hurries down the street.

He’d gotten aroused just by having that dirty stranger talk to him--and Snow doesn’t even want to think about what he’d just wanted to do, out there in the open, with no privacy. He tells himself that if he doesn’t lend any kind of acknowledgement to the filthy desires, then he can pretend they didn’t exist. But he still finds himself struck by one nagging thought, as he finally reaches his house and ducks inside.

_What the fuck is wrong with me?_

-x-

The next day brings no new answers.

Snow wakes up to find his body aching, but not in a way he’s used to--instead of a lingering pain in his muscles, he’s struck by a feeling of vacantness, a sensation of being empty somewhere deep inside and needing something to complete himself. The only thing Snow can relate it to is one of his drunken flings with Noel, and that had been a spur of the moment thing, and something he thought himself past.

Apparently not.

Snow takes to the streets again, telling himself that all he needs is a walk through the woods to clear his head and maybe a bite to eat. He avoids the marketplace entirely and instead heads to one of the little cafes in the city, sitting down at a table near a window with a good view of the coast and starting to look over the menu.

The feeling of emptiness inside him strikes again. Snow squirms in his seat and swallows down an uncomfortable noise that threatens to rise in the back of his throat, and looks up as his waiter comes over.

He’s a young, slender thing, his coppery hair pulled back into a tight ponytail; he pulls a notepad and pen from his apron and says, “My name is Gabriel, and I’ll be your server. What can I get you to drink?”

The very first thought that crosses Snow’s mind is to ask for the man’s cock, and he chokes on his breath.

“I--water,” he wheezes to the startled-looking waiter, coughing harshly to try to clear his airway again. “Just water, please.”

When the waiter walks away Snow buries his face in his hands, his mind racing; what the hell is going on with his head? He doesn’t even know this waiter, and yet he finds his mouth watering at the idea of wrapping his lips around Gabriel’s cock, tasting the salt of his skin and getting him nice and slick so that he can bend Snow over one of the tables near a big window and fuck him raw--

Snow gives himself a shake, forcing the thoughts from his mind; and when the waiter returns with his drink, Snow keeps his lips sealed shut, not trusting himself to keep his words suitable for the situation. The waiter looks slightly offended as he walks away, giving Snow time to look over the menu, but Snow can’t care.

He’d much rather have the waiter think him slightly rude than some kind of cock-greedy slut.

And try as he might, Snow can’t make himself focus on the menu--all he can think of is Gabriel’s young cock and how good it must taste, the power that could be contained in his trim hips and fit body as he fucked Snow into submission and tore his holes open with no regard for the pleasure of the body beneath him. When the waiter returns to take his order Snow points one trembling finger at the entree he’s selected, biting his bottom lip to keep his mouth closed, to keep himself from saying something about how good Gabriel smells or asking for the chance to suck him off in the bathroom. 

And it works, for the most part, until Gabriel returns with his food.

Snow is squirming in his seat when the waiter walks up, trying to discreetly find some angle that will have his pants or the chair rubbing across his hole, to satisfy the ache there; and he’s completely caught off-guard by Gabriel’s sudden appearance, so much so that he looks right up into the man’s face and says, “Oh, you’re back--can I suck your cock now?”

And silence reigns afterward, with Gabriel staring down at Snow blankly and Snow looking up at Gabriel with his cheeks flushed, humiliated, until Gabriel blinks, pointedly, and says, “What did you say?”

Snow knows the waiter is trying to help him--knows this is his chance to backpedal, to come up with something different, something that’s not incriminating--but his mind doesn’t care. It’s like his brain has been rewired, cutting out any appropriate talk and instead registering that every single male has a cock that needs to plunge into him and break him open.

“I said,” Snow repeats, his voice stronger now, “Can I suck your cock now?”

“That’s what I thought you said,” Gabriel says, setting the tray of cooling food down and looking over his shoulder, making sure no one else is close enough to overhear. “If you want it that bad, then come outside with me and I’ll give it to you. Alright?”

Snow nods dumbly, getting to his feet and following after Gabriel as the waiter leads him back through the restaurant, then out of the kitchen door and into the alley behind the building. It’s a filthy thing, the ground littered with trash from the restaurant and the dumpsters full of half-rotten food, with graffiti littered along the walls; and yet when Gabriel puts his back to one wall and unbuckles his pants, Snow is on his knees immediately, his mouth watering at the thought of what’s waiting for him.

He has no idea why he wants this man’s cock so badly--no idea why he aches for it, craving the musky taste of this stranger’s dick to fill his mouth and throat--but he does, so badly that it hurts deep in his bones. Gabriel pulls his cock out and Snow stares at it for a moment, running his gaze along the long, pierced shaft and feeling his mouth water; and then he dives in, wrapping his lips around the flaccid meat and giving it a few hungry suckles. 

Above him, Gabriel sucks in a sharp breath at the sudden attention, one of his hands finding its way to Snow’s head and grabbing at his hair through his beanie. “Fuck,” he breathes, rolling his hips forward a little, until he can feel Snow’s lips kissing at the soft skin of his balls. “You really do want it, don’t you?”

Snow can only moan in reply, savouring the salty taste of the man’s sweat and the unwashed tang of his working-class skin as he leans in and forces more of the waiter’s cock down his throat, until his mouth is pressed flush against Gabriel’s pelvis and he can feel the coarse, coppery curls of his pubes tickling at his nose. He closes his eyes and breathes in deep, drinking in the man’s musky scent and the stink of his cock, and the sensation of Gabriel’s dick actually starting to harden in his mouth, filling out and growing longer between his lips, is enough to make Snow moan.

Why did he ever deny himself this?

“Slut,” Gabriel mutters, starting to roll his hips forward and fuck his half-hard cock between the grasp of Snow’s slick lips; and Snow nods, bobbing his head to coax the cock in his mouth toward full hardness. “You don’t even know me, you whore...and yet here you are, sucking my dick in some dirty alley. You know I’m not going to pay you a dime for this, don’t you? What is wrong with you?”

All that Snow can do is moan in reply--he’s asked himself the same thing multiple times, but right now, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care what is wrong with him, so long as it doesn’t stop him from being able to suck the cocks of every man in town; and he doesn’t think it will, as Gabriel’s fingers tighten in his hair and start to guide his head, forcing him to bob on his shaft at the pace he desires instead of the languid one Snow had first set up. 

Snow doesn’t mind--he moans his approval and digs his fingers into Gabriel’s thighs, opening his mouth wider to better allow the waiter to fuck into his throat. He lets his eyes close and widens his stance a little, feeling his cock ache within the confines of his pants as his mouth is fucked at Gabriel’s pleasure; and the steady rock of Gabriel’s hips is almost hypnotic, has Snow lulled into a sense of content as he stays there on his knees and lets himself be used.

It’s the sudden withdrawal of Gabriel’s cock that has Snow snapping out of his reverie. He looks up at the waiter with his mouth hanging open and cheeks flushed, breathing hard to recover the breath that had been taken from him by Gabriel’s throat-fucking. 

“Get up,” Gabriel says, nudging at Snow’s thigh with his boot. “Pants down, hands against the wall. I’m gonna fuck you.”

Some part of Snow knows this is ridiculous--knows he should say no, knows that this has gone on for more than long enough; but the majority of him, the part of his brain that controls his muscles and his voice, has no such qualms. He scrambles up and jerks his pants down to his ankles, sighing in relief as the length of his stiff, drooling cock is bared to the open air, but before he can even touch himself Gabriel’s hand is between his shoulders, pushing him forward so he has to catch himself against the wall.

“Fucking slut,” Gabriel mutters, rubbing two spit-slick fingers at Snow’s hole. “You don’t even know me. Do you still want my cock?”

“Yes,” Snow moans, lying his cheek against the rough brick wall and popping his hips out further, moaning softly as Gabriel’s fingers work into the tight clench of his hole. “Fuck, yes--want you to fuck me, fuck me, fuck me--”

“Oh, shut up.” Gabriel’s fingers work in quick, jerky motions to stretch Snow’s ass out, until he can spread his fingers wide with relative ease. He pulls them out and wipes them on the pale, soft skin of Snow’s ass cheek. “I’m gonna fuck you, you whore. Be quiet before you get us caught.”

And Snow obeys, biting his lip to keep himself quiet as Gabriel’s cock rudely presses into his hole, sinking in until Gabriel’s balls are tucked up against Snow’s own and his pelvis is stopped by the meat of Snow’s ass. He grabs Snow’s hips and uses them as leverage, pulling him back into his body as he starts to thrust, fucking into Snow with quick snaps of his hips that force weak keens and moans out past Snow’s lips.

And the fucking doesn’t last long--between the thrill of being caught and the warmup of Snow’s mouth, Gabriel is grinding his dick as deep into the warm clutch of Snow’s hole as he can and moaning his release in mere minutes. He gives himself a few moments to recover, to savour the feeling of Snow’s wrecked ass around his softening cock before he pulls out; and he doesn’t even need to say a word before Snow is on his knees again, turned around to lick and suckle his own taste off of Gabriel’s cock, cleaning himself away until all he can taste is skin.

He still hasn’t cum, but his cock throbs between his legs, hard enough to hurt and smearing cum across the bottom of Snow’s belly. He manages to wait until Gabriel has gone back inside to jerk himself off, stifling his moans against his free hand as he cums in hard spurts against the alley wall. 

“And what do we have here?”

Snow had been so concerned with his own pleasure that he hadn’t even heard the other man approach; but the low voice is enough to make him turn around on his knees, and he finds himself staring blankly up at Thumb. 

“You stink like sex,” Thumb says, leaning down to toss Snow’s beanie to the side and instead grabbing a thick fistful of his pale hair, tugging him so he has to walk over on his knees. “Is this why you were staring at me, yesterday? You couldn’t come up with anything to say because you wanted my dick so bad, is that it?”

“Y-yes,” Snow chokes out, wobbling forward as Thumb drags him along, until he tosses Snow up against the side of a dumpster. He grabs for his own pants, shoving his dirty apron out of the way to unbutton his jeans and fish out his cock--it’s a monster, at least as thick as Snow’s wrist and drooling pre-cum out of the folds of foreskin at the tip, gleaming with the man’s sweat.

And Snow has never wanted anything more.

He lurches forward as Thumb grabs his hair again, and all but faceplants into the man’s sweaty crotch, much to the delight of the merchant above him. Thumb laughs and grinds Snow’s face against his cock, humming low in his throat at the feeling of Snow’s tongue fleetingly flicking and licking over his shaft, trying to get as much of the man’s taste in as he can while he’s being manhandled; and when Thumb lets him go, Snow dives onto the man’s cock like he’s starving for it, cramming as much of the fat tip between his lips as he can.

“That’s it,” Thumb says, his fat palm finding its way to the back of Snow’s head and pressing him in, trying to force even more of his cock into Snow’s mouth. “Choke on it, slut. You like this, don’t you?”

Snow can’t respond very much with his mouth crammed with dick, but he still tries; looking up at Thumb with his lips spread wide around the man’s fat shaft, drool smeared across his chin as he suckles around the merchant’s cock and nods eagerly. Thumb laughs at him, knotting his fingers in Snow’s soft hair and jerking his head back, then holding him still as he fucks his shaft into the warm hole of Snow’s mouth. 

“Yeah, I know you do…” Thumb backs Snow up further, until his back is against the alley wall--and with the brick holding him still it’s easier for Thumb to fuck his mouth, his hips snapping forward in hungry strokes and his heavy, hairy balls slapping at Snow’s chin. “Fucking whore. You would’ve just dropped down and sucked my dick right there in the market if I told you you could, wouldn’t you?” He doesn’t need to wait for Snow’s moan of assent before he spits, “Disgusting. Nasty slut.”

“I am,” Snow breathes, breaking away from Thumb’s cock for just long enough to suck in a gulp of air; and as soon as the words have left his mouth Thumb’s hand is back on his head, forcing him back against the alley wall as he rocks his hips forward, feeding his dick back into Snow’s mouth. 

“I didn’t tell you to stop sucking,” Thumb snarls, and Snow throws himself back onto the man’s cock with renewed fervor, one hand going to rub and roll Thumb’s heavy balls in his palm as he bobs his head on the man’s thick shaft. He loses track of how much time has passed, in his hypnotic rhythm of working Thumb’s cock in and out of his lips; and by the time Thumb finally pulls back to shoot his load all over Snow’s face, Snow tries to open his mouth and finds his lips have gone numb, the muscles in his jaw ache in protest. 

He doesn’t care.

He stays as still as he can as Thumb cums in thick, heavy spurts over his face, painting hot streams of seed over his forehead and the bridge of his nose, clumping up his eyelashes with it. The final few bursts of cum smear over Snow’s lips and across his tongue, and he moans softly in gratitude, savouring every last trace of it, leaning forward to lap into the folds of Thumb’s foreskin and search for more even as the man pulls his cock away.

“Filthy.” Thumb snorts and tucks his dick away, hefting his pants back up and shaking his head. “You stay right here, whore. I’m gonna go find you some more company.”

Snow nods, wiping his fingertips over his face to gather as much of the thick cum up as he can before popping them into his mouth to suck them clean. As Thumb walks away he looks down at himself, and isn’t surprised to find that he’s fully hard again, his own dick drooling against his lower belly; and as he reaches down to tend to himself he thinks about Thumb’s words--his promise to bring more company, more cocks for him to pleasure--and Snow can’t deny the shiver of delight that runs through him.

He’s so glad that he stopped trying to pretend to be anything other than the slut he is.

Gossip seems to travel fast in New Bodhum; Snow’s only managed to give himself a few leisurely strokes before he hears footsteps, and looks over to see a group of three men coming in the alley, each well over six feet tall and burly as oxen. 

And Snow is immediately straightening up, facing the men on his knees and opening his mouth, ready to please.

“Thumb told us there was a slut waiting in the alley,” one says, grabbing his buckle as he comes forward and working it free, pulling his turgid cock out into the air. The other two men flanking him do the same, and in a matter of minutes Snow finds himself on his knees, caged in by a trio of cocks all held mere inches from his face. “Didn’t tell us it’d be a pretty little kid like you, though.”

Another man laughs, dragging the tip of his cock along Snow’s lips. “Open up, sweetheart. Let’s put those holes of yours to good use.”

And Snow obeys eagerly, parting his lips to let the man’s cock into his mouth, sucking at the spongy head with a pleased, low moan; he tries to divvy his attention up between the three, moving back and forth between them, letting one take a few thrusts into his mouth before he moves onto the next and even stuffing his face with two of them at once, letting them stretch his mouth as far as it will go, but it’s not enough.

There’s still that aching void inside him, still lingering in his gut, telling him he needs more. So Snow pulls back and instead gets on all fours, offering his ass up to one of the men while the other two crowd at his face, their dicks struggling against each other to take up space in his mouth. 

“He’s all wet and loose back here,” the man behind Snow complains, working his thumb in and out of the slack hole roughly; and Snow moans around the cock he’s currently got his lips wrapped around, using one hand to stroke at the other, trying to keep them both pleased. 

“Thumb must have taken a turn at him before tipping us off.”

“And then left us sloppy seconds? Nasty bastard…”

The men talk above him like he’s not even there, and Snow knows he should feel ashamed, should feel dirty; but he doesn’t. At the moment all he can feel is complete and utter satisfaction, contentment in the most fulfilling way now that he’s got his ass and his face stuffed with strangers’ cocks, now that he has two warm loads of cum settled in his guts. 

And he can tell that there will shortly be more, if the way the cock in his mouth twitches is any kind of indicator; Snow presses himself down deeper on the shaft and swallows around it, trying to coax the man fucking his throat to cum right down his gullet. His hand works faster on the other man’s cock, and he whines when a fist in his hair pulls him away, forcing his mouth down on the cock he’d been jerking off instead of the one that had a nice, cozy home in his throat.

“You’ve spoiled him enough, dumb slut,” the man snarls, rocking his hips in quick jerks so that his balls slap up against Snow’s chin with every thrust. “It’s my turn to get some action. Suck my dick so I can come in your whore mouth!”

And Snow obeys, frantic to comply with the man who’s giving him everything he wants--even when the thrusting of the cock buried in his ass gets harder, faster, making Snow rock forward with every firm slam of hips to ass and ruining any kind of control he might have had over his sucking. For what it’s worth, the men don’t seem to mind; they just resume their fucking, making the most of what they can get out of Snow’s holes and manhandling him around until he’s right where they want him. 

The fucking lasts for well over fifteen minutes, but for Snow it feels like five. Too soon, he’s feeling the cock in his mouth jerk and then there’s a rush of salty, bitter fluid across the back of his tongue, painting down his throat in thick rushes. Snow moans wetly around the intrusion, but before he can even savour the taste he’s being moved, forced back so the cock leaves his mouth and the other man’s is jamming past his lips, barely getting into the warmth of his mouth before cumming in thick spurts, painting his tongue and teeth in sticky white. Snow lets his eyes flutter closed on a low, lewd moan and works the cum in his mouth, suckling the cock still held between his lips for every last drop of spend he can get from it, savouring the flavour and feeling of another man’s seed filling up his mouth. 

“God, you’re such a whore for it,” the man behind him growls, before he digs his nails into Snow’s hips and hauls him backward, holding him still as he cums, too. Snow can’t help his keen of ecstasy as he feels the man filling him up--adding to Gabriel’s load from earlier, shooting even more semen into him until Snow can swear that he fills his belly distend with it. 

When the man finally withdraws, Snow can’t stay upright; he collapses to his side, hugging his belly with a weak purring noise, completely happy to be lying on the ground in an alley and filled to the brim with the cum of strangers. The three men turn to leave, and Snow’s gaze follows them--but then he sees the line of people at the end of the alley, and sees Thumb there, taking money from the next man in line before letting him into the alley. 

Snow blinks at the scene, and then a slow smile stretches across his face.

He’s ready.


End file.
